But there would be nothing negative tonight. “It’s a triumph! You’ve done it again!” Lolly said, switching back to party mode and giving Liza a quick hug. “Isn’t that right, Whit?”

Her husband, always good at taking direction from his wife of forty-two years, lifted up both cups of wine in an awkward toast and said, “Brava to you both.” He once went to see Tosca at the Met and liked to prove it by tossing Italian phrases into his conversation.

Maggie used the moment to make her excuses without making eye contact with Liza, directing all her energy at Lolly. “I think I see an interested buyer I have to charm. Excuse me, all. See you soon, I hope!”

She headed off to the bar, leaving Liza alone with her in-laws.

It was Lolly, of course, who stepped into the void and said what needed to be said. “You’ve done a wonderful job with this gallery and with Fitz and

Vivi. You’ve made us very proud. Work, children, family—you’ll have that as a foundation so you can move forward. We know you’ll be fine.” Unlike so many of Liza’s friends whose mothers-in-law aimed their arrows of disapproval at them, with stinging comments about the nanny raising their grandchildren, Lolly had always been supportive of Liza’s work. On several occasions when stopping by to chat with Liza at the gallery, she’d expressed her own regrets that she’d not had the opportunity for a career. Now, in the middle of a crowded room, Lolly was making it clear that she would remain a loyal Liza supporter and that this gallery may be her salvation.

“Thank you.”

Just then the event photographer swung by and asked to take their picture for the paper. Liza hesitated but Lolly agreed and instructed Whit to keep the wine glasses down out of the picture, so his clients didn’t think he had a drinking problem. They all smiled for the camera and the photographer got what she came for. Liza knew when all of Southport saw the photo, they’d know whose side Lolly was on . . . which was exactly what Lolly intended.

“Let’s have lunch soon and we’ll really talk. Now, Whitney, what do you think about that painting over there? It’s a Kat Ryan. I’m thinking of replacing those tired nineteenth-century prints of sailboats in the front hall with something punchier, more fun. That piece is front hall material, isn’t it, Liza?”

“Brilliant, bold. For sure, front hall material.”

By nine o’clock, the last patrons had filtered out of Sweeney Jones. The wine was gone and the door was locked. Only a handful of people—Tricia, Raj, Connor, David, Tim, Maggie, Kat, and Serena—remained to clean up, rehash, and wait for Liza to bring out the champagne from the back. Serena had been set to leave earlier, but Liza insisted she stay and celebrate at the afterparty. “You were a part of this,” Liza told her, squeezing her arm.

“Thank you.” Serena busied herself like the others, feeling grateful to be included.

Emily, in charge of sales for the evening, was running the final numbers at the desk. “Fantastic night, Liza. Congratulations, Kat and Maggie. This was our biggest summer show ever.”

“Don’t forget the commissions, too!” Jenny added, tapping away on her tablet, posting the party pictures on social media.

Tricia, who hadn’t eaten all night, positioned herself next to the remains of the oversized cheese board, once abundant with cheeses, meats, fruit, and nuts and now a sad skeleton of the dried apricots no one ever ate and the intimidating blue-veined cheese. She ate the crackers and the decorative grapes that had collected around the edges and thought about the encounter with Lois. Regardless of what the forensic accountant discovered, she and Cap had agreed that Lois had to go. She watched Serena move around the room, comfortable in the company of family and friends, and that gave Tricia a sense of purpose. She was formulating a plan.

“Cheers,” David said, emerging from the back with a couple of bottles of champagne. Connor followed with clean glasses. Raj found some folding chairs and arranged them in the front window of the gallery. One by one, the exhausted team took a seat, chattering about what a night it had been, how great all the work looked on the walls, all except Liza, who scurried around the gallery, clearing the last of the wine glasses and cocktail napkins.

Maggie knew Liza was working out her anger with the frantic cleaning.

Liza had always used housework as therapy, mopping the floors or folding laundry with vitriol whenever she got punished for something that Maggie had initiated. Staying out past curfew or skipping school to take the train into the city—when the punishment went down, Liza got to cleaning.

Twenty years later, she was still doing it.

Serena watched her for a minute, then whispered to Maggie, “What’s the deal with Liza?”

Maggie whispered back, “Cleaning as coping. She’s mad at me and at Gray, so she’s taking it out on those used cocktail napkins.”

“Liza, honey, come sit. We’ll get all that mess in a bit. You must be exhausted. Have some champers and we’ll fix you a charcuterie plate, but sit down,” Connor insisted, trying his best to usher Liza to a chair. “I stashed some prosciutto in the office so we’d have some to share now. I didn’t want those freeloaders eating it all.”

For a second, Liza protested, then to everyone’s shock, she dropped the wineglass in her hands, shards of glass flying across the hardwood floors.

Then she started sobbing, choking out the words, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Don’t move!” Tricia warned, while dashing into the office to grab a broom to sweep up the shattered glass.

Liza froze in place, her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,”

she said over and over like she was trying to self-soothe. Tricia swept up the glass around her while Serena moved in to comfort her, stepping over the shards to get to Liza. She was inconsolable. “I’m so tired, so fucking tired of holding it all together while the men in my life do exactly what they want. Dad. Whit. Gray. Just once, I would like to do what I want.” Liza collapsed in Serena’s embrace. The two women stood together in the center of the studio, Liza crying softly and Serena assuring her, “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s okay.”

The men gathered around the bar, desperate to find something to do so they didn’t have to stare at Liza and Serena. They started putting away the chairs in the front of the gallery. Liza noticed them and immediately felt awful. “Oh, not you. You’re not the men I’m talking about. The other men in my life.”

Tricia finished sweeping the glass carefully while Serena walked Liza back to her office so she could have some privacy in her pain. Maggie stood in the background and watched the scene unfold, like it was a play and she was an audience member.

“What the hell happened?” Later, in the kitchen on Willow Lane, Tricia grilled Maggie after taking Bear for a walk. She had to clear her head after the opening and walking Bear, who was clearly lonely and confused, was her best option. Poor dog. She ran into Maggie in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea. “What went on between you and Liza?”

“What do you mean?” Maggie responded, resorting to evasion, as if Tricia were going to fall for that.

“Mags.”

“I told her that my painting was a view from Perry Park when it was actually from Gray’s front porch,” Maggie spit out as if she were the put-upon party.

“Oh.”

“Nothing happened between me and Gray. It was dinner. At sunset. I swear, nothing happened. I mean, I totally would have let something happen, but it didn’t.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because he’s cute and I’ve had a crush on him since I was nineteen.”

“Do you understand why she was mad?”

“Not really. I think she needs some meds. Maybe some Xanax.”

“She’s lost her father and her marriage in the last six weeks. She is being forced to sell her family home, find a divorce lawyer, and maintain her business because she’s going to need that income stream. I think she needs understanding, not a diagnosis.”

“She was making out with Gray last night.”

“She was?” Tricia was shocked.

“Yes. I know everyone thinks Liza is perfect and I’m a mess. But . . . not true.”

“But, generally true.”

“Gray and I did make out a little bit on the night of Dad’s wake.”

“You can never tell Liza that. Ever.”

“I know. Even I’m sorry for that. The whiskey.”

“You know you should stay away from him, right?” Tricia used her nice voice so Maggie wouldn’t shut down. “Please.”

“I know. I will.”

Chapter 23